


To Cast A Curse

by kingwellsjaha



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: (actually probably less than the show. sorry.), Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Historical Accuracy, Canon-Typical Stupidity, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Mentions of sexual violence, and yeah of course the aslaugsons are present (just not main characters. yet.), thesis statement of this work: damn it must suck to work for these people., this events happen in the background between ep. 4.11 - 4.13
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-01-03 17:17:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21183098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingwellsjaha/pseuds/kingwellsjaha
Summary: Fed up with the abuse they suffer, three thralls decide to retaliate and curse Ivar for his misdeeds.Inga, a thrall working in the fields, just wants Margrethe’s suffering to end, but she has to admit the possibility of cursing someone just seems all too exciting.Margrethe, now Ivar’s personal thrall, is just lost and afraid, uncertain what else she is supposed to do.And Djurdja, the queen’s personal thrall, has her own agenda.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> *cracks knuckles* Welcome to my extended Vikings cinematic universe. This is the first idea I ever had concerning this series. What started as a basic one shot, turned into a three shot, and now we are here. Let's see how this is going!
> 
> Obligatory shout out to [irisdouglasiana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisdouglasiana/pseuds/irisdouglasiana), who agreed to beta this when I still thought it would only be a three shot. She also writes the most amazing (Vikings) fanfiction in this fandom, so if you have not checked her out already, I urge you to do that.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inga overhears a conversation in the middle of the night and cannot stop thinking about its implications.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, this story is roughly divided into three basic storylines (Inga, Margrethe and Djurdja). We start with Inga. The first few chapters will be a little oc heavy, but I promise canon characters will become more important throughout the story.

#  **A Terrible Folly Called Courage**

It’s the middle of the night, when Inga overhears a conversation she shouldn’t have.

It’s her own fault, really. She has stolen herself away to the berry bushes after everyone has gone to sleep like she always does during this summer, eating the ripe tart berries in hopes of growing this year. She has not grown since her tenth winter, and now at the age of thirteen, most of the younger thralls already tower her. So she sneaks away to the bushes. They are overloaded with fruit this summer so no one will notice.

She eats until she feels the urge to vomit, until her body is shaking and she feels disgusted with herself. If she continues till the end of the summer, she is certain that her body has to grow eventually. She doesn’t ask for much really, she just wants to be a little taller than Gudrun, who is ten and cannot stop making fun of her “twig-like appearance”.

Sometime after she has eaten what feels like her weight in berries, she stops and marvels at the sky. She is on her way back to the barn after gazing into the night sky for far too long when she hears voices.

For a moment she fears that someone might have noticed her disappearance, that everyone in the barn is awake searching for her. But as she steps closer she recognizes the hushed tearful female voice coming from the general direction of the chicken pen. Inga knows its owner. Curiously she steps closer to the chicken pen to find Margrethe and Djurdja sitting close together, Margrethe’s head leaning against Djurdja’s shoulder.

Inga shouldn’t pry. She usually tries her best not to, but with the berries still in her belly, she feels weirdly brave.

Margrethe and Djurdja tend to keep to themselves. They work in the house instead of the field and so their skin is pale and untarnished unlike Inga’s, and they are allowed to keep their hair long and in beautiful braids.

Margrethe looks like a maiden from a song with her fine golden hair, big blue eyes and straight white teeth. When Inga first had ever laid eyes on her two winters ago, she had actually for a moment believed she was in the presence of a princess. There is something beautiful in the way that she walks and smiles, even if her smile is never for Inga.

In the pale moonlight her hair looks even more like silver and gold and Inga cannot help but step even closer. She notices Djurdja’s hand stroking her back and for a moment she wishes she could switch places with her, and be the shoulder Margrethe cries onto.

She would probably do a better job than Djurdja, who watches Margrethe cry with the same blank expression she carries on her face every day. She has a harsh face with a strong jawline and broad black eyebrows. Inga has never seen Aslaug’s personal thrall laugh or cry since her arrival six years ago. It seems that the sullen girl is only capable of two expressions: a blank stare and a blank stare with added furrowed brows, which seem to make up at least one fourth of her face. Right now, it is just a blank stare with no sign of compassion or love hidden underneath.

“I thought he would kill me.” Margrethe’s voice is hoarse and she is speaking quickly. “That I would be done for. By the morning you would’ve found nothing but my dead body.”

A cold shiver runs down Inga’s spine even though she doesn’t quite understand what Margrethe is talking about. This is more than just a secret chat between friends.

“And he would’ve blamed me and everyone would’ve believed it.”

Inga begins to have the feeling that this is about a boy. It’s in the way that Margrethe talks, the privacy of the conversation. It makes following the conversation a little bit harder. As Gudrun always likes to point out, she is very unversed when it comes to boys, but she knows that boys usually do not lead to murder. She tries to think of all the boys that work at the estate, but while some of them seem brutal and horrible, she cannot imagine them killing Margrethe.

“He would’ve got away with it.” Margrethe’s voice grows quiet at the end.

Inga can only see her back, but she really wishes to see her expression, if she looks as scared and defeated as she sounds or if that is maybe just part of her own imagination, but the only thing she can see is Djurdja’s calm expression.

“But he didn’t kill you,” she finally says. Her voice is deep and only carries a hint of an accent that once had been stronger. Her hand has moved from stroking Margrethe’s back to holding her closer and pressing her head against Margrethe’s.

Djurdja closes her eyes and squeezes her tightly. The softness surprises Inga.

“But what if he will?” Margrethe’s voice almost breaks by the end of the sentence. “Now that I have told you?” 

Djurdja grabs Margrethe’s shoulder.

“I will take this secret to the grave, you know that.” 

Margrethe raises her hand to grab Djurdja’s. A moment of silence passes before Djurdja continues. “And if he dares to lay even one finger on you, I will be sure to make him pay for it.”

There is a conviction in her tone that makes Inga a little scared. An older thrall had once told her that Djurdja is the daughter of a witch. His name had been Bonzoh and he had hailed from the same lands as her, so Inga took his word for it.

Margrethe’s hand pushes Djurdja’s away. Her voice is calmer now as she speaks. She sounds a little angry.

“Djurdja, please do not lie to me, I do not need the comfort.”

“But I’m not,” Djurdja’s voice sounds like she surely must be smiling, but she is not. Her eyes seem very light in the moonlight.

“Well then tell me, how do you intend to make Ivar pay for it?”

Inga’s eyes widen as she hears the name. Ivar. Prince Ivar. The youngest son of King Ragnar and Queen Aslaug. Ivar with the cruel smile. Inga has never interacted with anyone of the royal household. But she had once watched Prince Ivar by the training grounds as he practised with the bow. As a thrall she is forbidden to carry any weapons, which make them even more interesting. She thought, she had hidden herself well, just watching as the prince continued to hit the target.

But then suddenly the prince had turned, his cold blue eyes on her. His bow drawn, he aimed it at her. Inga had been frozen to the spot not even thinking about running. He had readjusted his aim and then let go.

The arrow had hit the tree right next to her, only a few more centimeters and it would’ve caught her right between the eyes. The prince had only smiled at her in amusement. His white teeth had seemed almost sharp from her position.

The image comes back now all so clearly. She thinks about his sneer. How had Margrethe been able to touch his body, to hold him close with a face like that? Her stomach flips and she wonders why Margrethe had done it, but maybe she had no choice. That happens sometimes as well.

Djurdja leans closer, her face half hidden behind Margrethe’s golden hair.

“No one, not even a prince, is immune to a curse.”

Inga presses a hand against her mouth to stifle a gasp. A curse. Djurdja couldn’t be serious. What a truly dangerous thing to say. Even only trying to curse a prince means death, even for the personal thrall of the queen. But Djurdja seems serious. Margrethe, unlike Inga, doesn’t seem too impressed. She scoffs.

“Right.”

“Trust me.” There is something dangerous in Djurdja’s tone. It glues Inga to the spot she’s kneeling at and raises goosebumps along her whole body. Margrethe starts to giggle.

She giggles and giggles until her giggling turns to whimmers and then sobs. Djurdja immediately pulls her into her arms again.

“It’s going to be alright,” she whispers. But Inga remembers Prince Ivar’s smile and sharp teeth and isn’t so sure.

* * *

What if Djurdja tries to curse Prince Ivar?

Inga has never considered cursing someone. Curses were things for the Queen, not people like her, who have been born thralls and whose family before her had been thralls. But now the thought keeps her occupied for the next days as she goes through her normal motions. She tries to catch glimpses of Margrethe and Djurdja throughout the day, but she is either in the kitchen kneading dough for Katla the cook or out in the field.

Prince Björn is soon about to leave on his journey down south. King Harald Finehair will follow him and when he finally comes, there will be a great feast, which makes Katla agitated. So while she is kneading dough and half listening to Katla’s complaints, Inga thinks about how a curse is conducted. It certainly needs something from the person being cursed and magic. It’s complicated and requires strength and Inga wonders if Djurdja is capable of that.

She considers it throughout her day, but cannot come up with a satisfying conclusion. Djurdja might be the daughter of a witch, but that doesn’t mean she is capable of conducting a curse. By the end Inga concludes that she at least wishes that Djurdja could. It would be for the best of Margrethe and Prince Ivar deserved it.

“Did you hear what I was saying?” Gudrun’s voice pierced through her thought process. Inga blinked and looked at the berry bush right in front of her. Katla had told them to go outside and pick them for small pies. 

She turns to Gudrun and tries to determine her mood. Gudrun has a cruel smile on her face and her small delicate chin pointed up. Inga has the feeling she enjoys looking down on her now that she is able to.

Inga wants to ignore her, but knows it will only play further into her cruelty, so she shakes her head. Gudrun’s smile twists into a grin. Tófa giggles.

“I was just talking about the feast and who we might dance with-,” again with the feast, for some inexplicable reason Gudrun has set it into her head to dance with someone during the feast, as if anyone is interested in dancing with a ten year old, even a tall one. “- and while I was talking to Tófa I wondered if we could get anyone to dance with you.”

Her voice grows sickeningly sweet during the end. Inga looks at her for a moment notes her tan yet even face. No scars have ruined it yet, unlike hers. When she was younger, she had tried to escape punishment and a misplaced branch had tore up her chin. She turns her eyes back to the black berries. 

“And who have you come up with?” She asks, bracing herself for the answer.

“No one, of course, who would like to dance with someone like you?” Gudrun and Tófa start to laugh. Inga continues picking berries and tries not to show any sign of anger or sadness on her face. They are only children, after all, and she cannot let herself be affected by them.

Their laughter is cut short by a painful hiss. Immediately Gudrun and Tófa grow silent and huddle together with a scared expressions. Inga freezes.

As thralls one has to learn to differentiate between the voices of one’s masters. And all three had recognized the hiss immediately as Prince Ivar’s. From the sound he must be close. Gudrun and Tófa grab hands and move further into the thorny bushes, but for some reason Inga turns her head in his direction. She spots him between two bushes cursing. His head is turned away. He has not noticed them.

For a moment Inga watches the back of his head. Normally she would duck away like Gudrun and Tófa, but she remembers what Prince Ivar did to Margrethe and anger fills every fiber of her body. Slowly she puts down her basket and moves towards him. Tófa squeals and reaches out her arm to stop Inga, but Inga dodges out of her way.

She moves towards the cursing prince, her hands slightly shaking. Once she is a little closer she notices that he is looking at his hand and the blood that is oozing out of his fingertips. Her legs move on their own accord until the prince jerks his head up towards her.

Inga immediately looks at the ground, but she can still feel his angry stare.

“What?” He asks and it feels like he is forcing it out of his mouth.

“I’m sorry my Prince, I just couldn’t help but noti-”

“What is it that you want?” He half yells. Inga wonders if he remembers her, most likely not, but there is some chance. Her body clearly does remember him and the arrow pointed at her face, and she gulps and stumbles a step back, wondering if Margrethe had to look him in the eyes during the whole process.

“Do you need help with your finger, my prince?”

She presses her lips together and focuses her eyes onto a place in front of him. Even though every fiber in her body tells her to keep a close eye.

Prince Ivar growls.

“I’m alright.” His voice takes on a dangerous edge.

Her hands grab the cloth of her simple dress, dirty and worn out. Usually she would leave now, but her body has its own way of thinking. She steps closer and reaches out her hand with the cloth of her dress in hand.

“Let me clean-” Before she can even touch him, he snatches her wrist. His grip is harsh and unforgiving. If he wants to he could break it in two. He has grabbed her with his bleeding hand and the blood is dripping onto her arm. She cannot help but look down into his angry eyes.

“Don’t you dare touch me with your dirty clothes.” She doesn’t dare cry. Showing him any sign of weakness will only make it worse. So she can only wait and hope that she will be strong enough for whatever is about to come.

His blood is sticky and hot on her skin. The gauntlet is biting into her arm and she hopes and prays that he will leave her hand unharmed. He stares at her angrily and pulls her closer. Again she thinks about Margrethe. If Margrethe has seen his face this up close as well. If she had to kiss him on his lips. Inga cannot imagine Prince Ivar showing any kind of tenderness and her stomach flips.

Right as the pain grows unbearable he lets go of her, making her almost fall to the ground. She catches herself in the nick of time. Her hand is throbbing.

“Go,” he says, “and never dare to bother me again.”

She does as he says, almost running back to the bushes where Gudrun and Tófa are waiting. Only a little ways before she reaches them, she slows her steps and delights in their shocked expressions as she comes closer.

Gudrun stares at her with her mouth open, finally unable to say anything smug. Inga enjoys the moment maybe a little too much. Carefully she presses her sleeve to the blood on her arm, trying to gather it all in one spot. She hopes it’s enough. She gives them another good look and tries to hide the smile bubbling up inside of her. Then she turns back to the bushes to pick more berries.

* * *

Later that evening, she rips off the soiled piece of fabric from her dress and folds it carefully. Her plan is to give it to either Margrethe or Djurdja, preferably both. While waiting for dinner she rehearses what she is going to say when the time comes.

There are two things she needs to prepare for: Djurdja’s blank expression and Margrethe’s disdain, but she is certain she can pierce through that. Around her everyone is talking. It seems the food is coming late today, which annoys most of the field workers. Next to her, Tófa grows restless and moves her shoulders back and forth, poking them into Inga.

When Margrethe enters with a strangely sullen expression, Inga grows a little more agitated. Maybe it’s a bad idea after all, a daring and stupid idea, but she has already gathered his blood. She decides to wait for Djurdja, hoping she will come tonight.

Sometimes she doesn’t. Sometimes the queen keeps her occupied until the late hours of the evening. There are rumors that she has slept in the queen’s chambers even, but it doesn’t happen too often. So there is still a chance.

No food has come and now everyone is restless. Inga is glad that she has something to distract herself with. Her eyes are on Margrethe, who as usual sits to her side with her hands folded. Inga thinks about moving places somewhere closer to her. It might be a bold move, but it would make initiating a conversation easier. Or should she wait till everything has quieted down and hope that Margrethe and Djurdja will talk to each other in private other today?

She is about to do it when the door opens and Katla finally steps in. Everyone collectively sighs in relief and then tenses again, when they notice that she has not come with a pot or bread. Her long face is tense and her dry thin lips are pressed in a straight line.

“There will be no food this evening,” she states calmly. It’s in that moment that Djurdja appears at the door. No one notices except for Inga and Margrethe, who quickly moves to the side to give her space.

Around Inga, people take their time to unravel the information. It sinks in slowly, but as soon as they have understood, it gets loud. Workers start yelling. The children start crying. Both Margrethe and Djurdja remain unmoved through it all.

It’s Gunnar who calms them all down. He is one of the oldest, yet still the sturdiest. Inga has felt his hands multiple times throughout her life and so have many others. Everyone grows quiet as soon as he raises his hands.

“Why?” He asks as everyone has grown silent. “What does the queen want?”

The attention shifts back to Katla. Katla, who has been part of this household the longest. She has seen people come and go, the birth of the princes.

“The queen has lost some earrings and wonders who took them.”

The murmurs start: People looking at each other, accusing each other, stating that it wasn’t them. Katla’s quiet sullen voice somehow manages to speak all over them.

“Until they are found, we will be without food.”

It’s good that the queen isn’t here because Inga isn’t sure if one of the field workers might have done something stupid. People start to yell and move towards Gunnar as if he has the power to see this through. Even the children are walking around his legs and making demands. Inga steps to the side to avoid the crowd. Her eyes follow Margrethe and Djurdja who are slipping outside.

Inga watches them leave and for a moment considers her choices. Her eyes move to Gunnar. Gudrun has moved up to his leg pulling strongly. She is more daring than the others, given that she’s his niece. Somehow Inga gets the feeling she should be doing this as well, or at least think about Katla’s words and its implications, but somehow her whole mind is too focused on Margrethe’s hair disappearing behind the door.

She shouldn’t. But somehow her whole body is pulling her away. The cloth is still in her hand and she at least has to try.

Sometimes being small has its perks. She slips through the crowd and follows the two girls without even being noticed.

Margrethe is holding onto Djurdja’s arm as they walk. They turn around as soon as they hear her feet stomping on the ground. Margrethe looks surprised.

Inga stops in front of them. She has thought up all these things she wants to say, but when she finally stands in front of them the words have disappeared and cannot be found again. It gets even harder with Margrethe’s big blue eyes on her.

She holds onto her piece of cloth and tries to find a good explanation. Her eyes move from her dirty small hands to Margrethe’s puzzled expression and the whole world grows wobbly and distorted.

With a smile she reaches out her pathetically shaking hand towards Margrethe, who looks appalled at the squeezed fabric in her hand.

Inga tries to smile reassuringly.

“It’s Prince Ivar’s blood,” she states and only realizes as Margrethe’s brows furrow that this might not be the best way to start this conversation.

* * *

For a moment Inga thinks they will push her away; that they will laugh and turn around and simply leave. Margrethe looks confused and shocked. But then as she turns to Djurdja she sees the hint of a smile on her face. It disappears so quickly she cannot even truly say it was there, but somehow Djurdja looks a little warmer.

They move a little further out into the fields. Somewhere in the distance Inga can hear someone play the oud. It’s probably Prince Sigurd. He sometimes like to go outside and play. It’s a nice especially during the summer when they work in the fields and he sits somewhere close by and plays. He has gotten better over the last few years and now when he plays the girls in the fields cannot help but move a little bit to his tunes.

Today he plays a rather sad song. Inga has the feeling that she has heard it once before. The tale of a poor woman in captivity turning out to be a princess only to have her privileges denied or something along the lines. They sit down by some bushes with their knees each pressing against each other as Inga explains herself. The words fall quickly out of her mouth and so that Margrethe has to stop her from time to time with further questions. Djurdja remains silent throughout the whole process. She takes the piece of fabric and inspects it.

“Is it enough?” Inga finally manages to ask. Djurdja looks up and automatically Inga flinches, but there is nothing harsh in Djurdja’s face, instead she looks thoughtful.

“Probably.” Djurdja brushes her thumb against the material. Inga grows more uncomfortable underneath her gaze, even though it is not as cold as usual. She does what she always does in situations like these and smiles, but Djurdja doesn’t have the common decency to smile back.

“It doesn’t matter,” Margrethe chimes in. Inga has almost forgotten that she’s there too, even with her leg pressed against hers. Margrethe has crossed her arms and eyes the cloth warily. Inga had expected such a reaction, but she’s disappointed regardless.

Somewhere between Margrethe and Djurdja a silent conversation must’ve happened because Margrethe’s eyes widen and she looks annoyed. “What? Don’t tell me you are seriously considering it?”

Inga moves her attention back to Djurdja, who shrugs her shoulders as she folds the fabric carefully in her hands. Djurdja doesn’t say a word, but Margrethe continues.

“It’s too dangerous.” she leans forward to get into Djurdja’s view. Her whole body is tense and she is searching for an answer that Djurdja will not give her. Annoyed, she moves away and crosses her arms again. Inga waits and listens to Prince Sigurd’s oud.

“Margrethe,” she whispers. Margrethe’s face turns to her. Inga flinches under her cold gaze. She presses her lips together, “I’m sorry that this happened to you.”

Margrethe freezes. Inga notices that her angry expression turns a little soft. Margrethe shifts her attention to the ground in front of them.

“It wasn’t too horrible.” Margrethe’s voice is quiet and a little shaky. Inga reaches out her hand and squeezes Margrethe’s and for some reasons Margrethe lets it happen; she even smiles a little reluctantly. Inga’s heart starts to beat loud and fast. She looks proudly down onto her small hand holding onto Margrethe’s beautiful elegant fingers. Hers looks worse in comparison, but in this moment Inga cannot get herself to care. It doesn’t matter because Margrethe let her touch her. Nothing else is important.

“We will need fingernails, hair, wine and a sacrifice.”

Inga and Margrethe turn their attention to Djurdja. The fabric lies in her lap and she has propped her head onto her hands.

Inga waits for Margrethe to rebuke Djurdja, but she has grown quiet. It seems again like they are in a silent conversation, but this time Margrethe’s expression doesn’t harden again. She sighs and her whole body loses its tension in silent agreement. 

A smile creeps onto Inga’s face. She can feel her body starting to tingle at the prospect. It’s all so wrong, but there is something beautiful about the idea of being the völva that curses the nobleman. This feels like the start of a song, the start of a story she never in her wildest dreams has imagined to be part of.

“There is sacrificial wine in the queen’s chambers. And I’m certain that you, Margrethe, will be able to obtain some of Ivar’s hair and nails.”

Djurdja lays out the plan in the calmest manner as though she is preparing to sew a dress. Maybe there isn’t much of a difference to her.

“And what about a sacrifice?” Inga whispers.

Djurdja doesn’t smile, but there is a twinkle in her eye, something playful and dangerous. Inga’s heart beats even faster.

“We’ll find something. A rooster perhaps. They always go missing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> opinions, feelings, disagreements? yell them at me!
> 
> my tumblr is [volvaaslaug](https://volvaaslaug.tumblr.com/)
> 
> my amazing beta is [ivarthebadbitch](https://ivarthebadbitch.tumblr.com/)


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To curse Ivar the girls gather sweat, hair and nail clippings. The punishment of the Queen continues and causes tension within the community. After a small escalation, Inga decides to step in and save the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what can i say? i really love this chapter, a little proud of it actually. BUT i also want to say, i did a little bit of research for this, enough research to know that i am not really historical accurate in some aspects (for which i am partially sorry.) but i think it's still fun and logical within the Vikings universe!
> 
> cw: whipping, starvation (this is going to be a theme from this moment onward)

It’s good that Inga has the curse to preoccupy her mind with for the next couple of days because the queen is serious on starving them until someone confesses to stealing her earrings.

No one has done so yet and without much information to go on, the rumours start spreading. Apparently, these are very precious earrings forged far away from here, a gift of a foreign merchant, who had fallen in love with the queen when he had seen her beauty—at least that’s Inga’s interpretation of Katla’s words.

It doesn’t really matter in the end. It only matters that they are gone and that no one has admitted to stealing them yet. And so they have to starve, which makes all of them—but especially the men—turn more hostile.

Inga tries to stay away from them and from Gudrun and Tófa, who grow whinier with each passing day. Unlike her they have not known hunger like this before. They do not know what it’s like to fall asleep with an empty belly and wake up the next day without any hope of getting food. When she had been around the age of six, the first yarl Inga had worked for, had experienced a harsh summer, which had destroyed most of the crops, leaving little to nothing for her family. She still remembers the hunger back then, monotonous yet all encompassing feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her two younger siblings had died, including her baby brother, though he had been sick anyway. Only her and her three older siblings had managed to withstand the winter. In the spring Inga had been sent to the estate of the Queen.

Luckily Inga is now able to spend more time with Margrethe and Djurdja, and although the time is still limited given their different schedules, it makes Inga very happy, especially because Margrethe has smiled at her at least five times now.

They meet each other by the river to go through Prince Ivar’s clothes. Djurdja has remembered that sweat might work as well. Inga doesn’t need to be there, but she has managed to sneak away to help Margrethe disentangle Ivar’s clothes.

The first thing she notices is the abhorrent stench surrounding it. She flips over his blanket and then has to turn away in disgust.

“Do boys always stink this horribly?” She asks after daring to turn the bed sheets again. Margrethe is laughing at her reaction, but it is a kind laugh.

“Yes, they do,” Djurdja answers from behind.

Margrethe airs out the blanket.

“Just wait, one day the smell might have some attractive qualities to it.” There is something suggestive in Margrethe’s tone, something Inga doesn’t understand. Quickly she turns her head to Djurdja, who is sitting by the water, but Djurdja’s eyebrows are furrowed and raised at the same time, as if she also doesn’t understand what Margrethe is trying to say.

They cut out a small piece from his shirt at the end. Djurdja will fix it before anyone notices.

“Next thing we need is hair and nails, which you will have to get, Margrethe.”

Margrethe’s face turns serious at that. She nods. Another new thing is that Prince Ivar has made her his personal slave. Inga doesn’t know when exactly it had happened.

She’s a little angry with Djurdja for saying it so bluntly. Margrethe is in so much peril each day, she doesn’t need to be reminded all the time.

* * *

It gets worse the day after that. Katla has sent them back to the berry bushes.

It’s a warm and with no clouds in the sky the sun is beating down on them. The queen granted a piece of bread this morning for everyone, but Inga has the feeling it has made things worse. It feels as if her body has to learn again not to eat.

At least now Gudrun and Tófa use most of the time to complain about how hungry they are instead of teasing her, but that doesn’t make them less annoying. Especially when Tófa plays with the idea of simply eating the berries.

“Come on Gudrun, no one would know.”

“My uncle would and we would never hear the end of it.”

They continue to argue like this. Inga tries to drown them out. The whole atmosphere had gotten so tense that she had not dared to go to the berry bushes in the last couple of days out of solidarity. It’s futile anyway, without the food from the queen, no berries would make her grow.

Before she can finish this thought, Tófa screams. Inga turns her head only to see Gudrun lying in the dirt unconscious. Tófa is on her knees shaking her, but Gudrun won’t wake.

Inga drops her basket and falls onto her knees, pushing Tófa to the side. Gudrun’s breathing is shallow. Her whole body is hot and sweaty. Inga tries to determine what to do next as Tófa continues babbling.

“She just said, she felt sick and then she fell. She felt sick and then she fell.” Her words grow more garbled with every repetition as tears roll over Tófa’s cheeks.

“We need to get her out of the light. Someone needs to get Gunnar.”

Looking at Tófa’s big blue eyes and reddened cheeks, Inga doesn’t have to ask who is going to find him. She helps to drag Gudrun closer to the bushes. She picks a berry from the basket and holds it out to Tófa.

“Try and feed her. I’ll be back shortly.”

And with that she runs down the small line of bushes towards the fields. The sun is still high and her legs feel a little bit wobbly. She tries to remain focused on the path in front of her.

She spots Gunnar and a few other men by the end of the field. His brows knit together, but before he can bark at her, she explains herself.

“Gudrun fainted.”

It’s enough to soften his harsh expression. Gunnar once had a big family, or so Katla had explained it to Inga, with a lot of children, but they had died one after the other. Gudrun’s mother had been his sister and she also had a lot of children, but only Gudrun had made it.

Gudrun’s mother, Inge, had died three summers ago. Inga had cried with Gudrun back then; her mother had been a very lovely person.

“Where?”

“By the berry bushes.”

Gunnar starts to run before she even has finished the sentence. Inga wants to wait for a moment to catch her breath, but she doesn’t want to be close to the other men without Gunnar either, so she turns and tries to follow his long steps.

She catches up to him on the way to the barn. He carries Gudrun in his arms. Tófa follows them. They do not notice her.

Gudrun is awake again. Her voice is faint and brittle, but Inga can still hear it.

“I need to eat something, please,” she whispers.

He shushes her.

“Please uncle, you have to find who did it-“

“I will, don’t worry.”

“-I don’t want to end up looking like Inga.” Gudrun starts to cry by the end.

All of Inga’s efforts to join them stop. She turns her head and doesn’t dare to look at them as they walk away.

When they have left, she waits another moment, trying to keep a storm of feelings contained inside of her. She walks back to the berry bushes. In their hurry Gunnar and Tófa have left the baskets behind. Inga reaches out her hand to gather them slowly.

Gudrun has always been a little mean to her, especially after her mother had died, but she had rarely managed to really hurt Inga. Of course, her words had hurt her, but they always had seemed like an attempt to establish dominance over her. Gudrun doesn’t mean them.

Or maybe she does.

Inga starts to cry on her way to the kitchen. Luckily Katla is too busy kneading dough to notice her at all. She puts away the baskets and heads outside, trying her best not to cry. She cannot afford to lose more water, but it’s hard not to, as the words keep on repeating inside her head.

The pleading way Gudrun had said them. She had sounded so scared.

Her mother had sent her away to work for the queen to ensure that Inga would never hunger again and she has not, but something of this summer has manifested itself in her bones and skin. There are other thralls all around that have experienced hunger like this, all of them small and scrawny, ugly with desperate big eyes.

Inga doesn’t want to be like them. She thought that the food at the estate and a little more would do the trick, but maybe she is just as doomed as them. She hates this feeling. It makes her skin crawl and for a moment she wishes she could tear this flesh off her to get rid of it. She’s already only skin and bones, so why bother with the skin anyway?

It’s not that she wants to be beautiful. She probably will in a few years, when she finally falls in love with a boy. She fears that moment already. The moment when, she will hate herself for being too ugly to ever be loved by a boy, but it doesn’t concern her now.

Right now she cares about stories. About heroes and shield maidens and princess. There is no place for someone like her. The hungry starving thralls that rebelled against their master and were overcome by him.

Inga doesn’t want to be them. She wants to be a shield maiden or a hero, anything else but this.

Reluctantly she moves to the barn. She stops at the big doors and waits, not wanting to go inside.

“Inga?”

Margrethe’s voice is soothing and sweet. It feels like balm against her soul. It makes Inga forget that her face is tear stained and ugly, so she turns around.

As soon as Margrethe sees Inga’s face her smile falters.

“What’s wrong?”

Inga blinks. She has always wished for someone as beautiful as a princess to care about her, but now she feels to dirty to allow herself the pleasure.

“Nothing,” she barely manages to say before more tears fall down her cheeks.

Margrethe steps closer. She reaches out her hand and touches Inga’s shoulder. Her hands feel soft and warm against Inga’s dress. Inga tries her best not to succumb to her soft touch. Her eyes land on Margrethe’s belly. She pouts.

“Did you get the fingernails?” She remembers to ask.

Margrethe nods.

“Good.” She wipes away her tears.

“What happened?” Margrethe asks again. A little more insistent this time. Her hand digs gently into Inga’s shoulder. It feels reassuring.

Inga makes the mistake of looking up and staring into these beautiful blue eyes. The gods blessed Margrethe with these eyes and her long nose and soft lips. She is so lovely and pretty, a princess from some story Inga wishes to be part of, but isn’t.

“Will I ever be pretty?” The sentence leaves her mouth before she can rethink it. It’s not what she actually wants to ask, but everything else feels dumber and more desperate. She wants to ask if she is worthy. If someday she can be part of a story, maybe Margrethe’s story.

Margrethe looks down at her and Inga can see the pity and the sadness in her eyes. She smiles faintly and squeezes Inga’s shoulder. Finally she sighs.

“I promise you, some day you will be beautiful enough for a boy to fall in love with you.”

That’s not what Inga means, but she doesn’t correct Margrethe. Maybe this answer will soothe her later, when she finally has fallen in love with a boy. Margrethe misreads her hesitance. She leans down. So that their eyes are at the same level. Inga can feel her heart starting to pound faster.

“I mean that.”

Inga replies with a hesitant smile more. In her presence it gets easier to push the unpleasant thoughts away.

“Thank you.”

Margrethe squeezes her shoulder one final time before letting go.

“Of course.”

* * *

Gunnar is very angry that evening. Inga watches as he starts to search through the different beds. Everyone is silent and lets him do it. They know what will happen if they protest. While he destroys their beds to find the earrings, he berates them all, threatening whoever has taken the earrings. Gudrun is still lying around and whining. Inga ignores her at best as she can. At this point Gudrun’s moans are more for show than anything else.

He finds nothing, until he moves to the place where Djurdja and Margrethe sleep. Everyone gasps as he retrieves a small leather sack, but as he opens it, only Inga’s bloodstained piece of fabric slips out. Disappointed, Gunnar throws the sack to the ground. It’s enough for Gunnar to turn to Djurdja and Margrethe. His eyes are on Djurdja; who else would be in possession of a small leather sack like this?

“What’s this?” He asks the question as though he has caught Djurdja with the earrings in hand.

Djurdja is unmoved. She even dares to look him directly in the eyes.

“A small leather sack the queen gave me as a present.”

“And what is this?” Gunnar kicks the fabric further away from him towards Djurdja.

Djurdja slowly sinks onto her knees and grabs it.

“Nothing that concerns you.”

It had been quiet while Gunnar had searched the beds, but now it grows dead silent. Inga can hear her own quick heartbeat. Gunnar stares at Djurdja. He is flexing his arms, but he doesn’t dare hit her. None of the older thralls dare hit her, it’s a task reserved for the queen.

“I would rethink my wording if I were you.” He finally says. His hands are fists. One more word and he will surely explode. Inga can feel everyone waiting in anticipation, hoping that Gunnar will finally snap. They think Djurdja deserves it.

Djurdja steps towards him and picks up the leather sack, putting the piece of fabric back.

“Or what?”

There is faint amusement in Djurdja’s tone. For a moment Inga actually believes that Gunnar is going to do it, but instead he reaches out and grabs Djurdja’s hand.

“I know you did it.”

No movement on Djurdja’s part, just a quick look to his hand on hers.

“I would let go, if I were you.”

“You enjoy watching us lower folk suffer, don’t you?”

Instead of letting go he pulls her closer. Next to him Djurdja looks small and still a little child like. Djurdja tries to tear her hand and body away. 

“Your games stop here.” Gunnar’s voice has turned into a hiss. “Do you understand me?”

Gunnar’s voice grows louder until it’s a growl. He shakes her.

Inga is on her feet before she can think about it. She grabs Gunnar’s hand and tries to tear him away from Djurdja.

“Let go of her!”

Gunnar simply ignores her. He starts to shake Djurdja. She cannot withstand the strength of Gunnar’s broad strong arms.

“Do you understand?” He yells. Up close Inga can see Djurdja’s face. She still shows no sign of fear. Only her hand gives away her discomfort.

It’s not that Djurdja doesn’t deserve to be told. She is rude, but she did not steal the earrings. She is above such petty crimes; the queen pampers her every day. It’s ridiculous that Gunnar cannot see that.

“Let go!” Inga yells she leans over and bites Gunnar’s hand. He lets go immediately. Djurdja falls onto her back. Inga somehow manages to keep her balance.

She steps in front of her with shaking fists. It looks probably foolish, a small thing like her against a giant.

Gunnar turns to her. His angry gaze makes her tremble. She is ready for his blow, knows already what it feels like. Still she cannot stop herself from closing her eyes as he comes closer.

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the air, but Inga doesn’t feel it.

She opens her eyes to find Margrethe has stepped in front of her. Inga blinks at her in amazement. It’s silent for a moment. Only Gunnar’s heavy breathing can be heard, and then Katla steps forward.

“I think we should go to bed,” she states firmly. Gunnar listens this time.

* * *

No one dares to speak a word afterwards. They reassemble their beds. They go to sleep. Except for Inga, no one looks at Djurdja or Margrethe. Her cheek is already turning red.

Inga knows it’s not her fault. It had been Margrethe’s decision to step in front of her, but still she feels a little guilty. And because she is hungry the guilt fills her whole stomach.

She lies awake that night, too afraid to go to the berry bushes. Gudrun presses against her side, reminding Inga of her words and how they still sting a little inside of her. It feels like her feelings are running in circles. She turns away from Gudrun to look at Margrethe sleeping on her other side.

Finally she decides to look up to the dark ceiling. On bad days, Inga swears, she has seen creatures lurking in the dark with sharp teeth and ugly snouts, but tonight she is able to find comfort in it. The dark allows her to sort out her thoughts. They sit down and wait for her to pick them up.

The world isn’t just Margrethe’s cheek and Gudrun’s words. It’s also Djurdja’s hand and Gunnar’s angry stare. She wonders what will happen if no one steps forward and admits to have stolen the earrings. Will the queen starve them until one of them dies? Will that be proof enough that none of them did do it? Inga tries to determine herself which one of them must’ve done it. Her mind moves back to Djurdja. She understands Gunnar’s logic. Throughout the day Djurdja is always by the queen’s side. She knows where the queen keeps her jewelry but Inga cannot imagine her doing it. There is no greed in Djurdja, no hunger for more. She had offered to curse Prince Ivar, but that’s different. It fits the story: Margrethe, the lost princess; Djurdja, the daughter of a witch. 

It’s Inga that doesn’t fit.

No, in the story she would have stolen the earrings out of anger and jealousy over the queen’s beauty. She would’ve crept into into the queen’s chambers and hidden the earrings in her bed. Gunnar would’ve found them, she would’ve been whipped and punished, even bound to the pig pen, and everyone afterwards would’ve rejoiced and eaten. Gudrun would’ve smiled and eaten the most.

It would have been a better story.

And maybe it still could be.

* * *

Everyone has to play their role, Inga tells herself in the morning as she walks from the barn to the estate. And maybe she doesn’t get to be the hero, but she can do the right thing regardless.

Her legs feel a little wobbly as she enters the main hall. It’s empty right now, the throne unoccupied. She moves to the queen’s chambers.

She can already hear her talking to Prince Ubbe. It’s about Prince Björn’s journey and King Harald’s arrival. Inga waits for a moment by the entrance. She needs to be strong for this, no giving in, no tears.

With one final breath she enters the room. Djurdja is the first one to see her, furrowing her brows a little bit. Then the queen and Prince Ubbe turn as well.

Inga looks down at her feet and tries to keep her voice steady as she speaks.

“My Queen, I stole the earrings.”

Silence follows. Inga dares to look at Djurdja, who stares at her with her blank expression, but this time there is something else there as well. Confusion maybe.

“What is your name?” The queen’s voice is cold yet controlled.

Inga is so surprised by the question that she needs a moment to answer.

“Inga, my queen.”

“Inga,” the queen repeats. It feels wrong to hear it from her mouth, almost too personal, “and what did you do with them?”

Inga swallows hard. Her legs are shaking slightly and she tries to make them stop, but it is no use.

“I threw them away.”

Silence again. When Inga looks to Djurdja, she sees fear in her eyes.

“You threw them away?” The Queen’s voice grows angrier. Inga still doesn’t dare to look up. Her eyes are glued to her feet. She slows her breath. She needs to be calm or else it will not work.

“Yes, my queen,” she says a little louder.

The silence that follows her statement is so suffocating, Inga finally looks up for the fracture of a second. The queen’s face is tense and her eyes are bright with anger. Quickly Inga averts her gaze. She tries not to shake even more. She clenches her fists and waits.

“Ubbe,” the queen finally says. From the corner of her eyes Inga sees Prince Ubbe jolt with surprise. “Bring the branch.”

The prince doesn’t hesitate. Inga can hear his loud footsteps behind her. She closes her eyes.

“Djurdja, uncover her back!”

Djurdja’s steps are so light that Inga only notices that Djurdja has moved when she feels her long fingers on her back. She gently pulls Inga’s dress over her head. Inga raises her hands to help her. Field thralls do not get an underdress, they get barely even a dress, so when Djurdja is done, Inga stands naked in front of the queen. It’s cold inside despite the hot summer day and Inga cannot withstand the urge to cover her small dirty body in front of the queen.

She tries her best not to feel embarrassed. But she feels small and weak. How poor and ugly her body most seem in this hall of wealth. She must look like a strange childish creature and not a girl of thirteen.

Djurdja appears in her view of sight. She has her clothes in hand. Her face is as stoic as ever, but this up close Inga is certain that there is something strange about her eyes. It feels like her mask has slipped a little bi. What once seemed harsh and intense has grown soft, far too soft for her tense jawline and dominant brows. The sight confuses Inga so much that she forgets her discomfort, if only for a moment.

Prince Ubbe’s steps bring her back to reality. Djurdja hands her back her dress, Inga pulls it closer to cover herself at least a little bit. Djurdja reaches out her hand to touch Inga’s arm lightly.

She stays at her side, and Inga is thankful for it.

“We’ll start with twenty,” the queen states coldly.

There is a moment of hesitation before Prince Ubbe raises the branch and lashes out. His strike hits her right across the back and makes her yelp out in pain. She has never been punished by one of the princes. Before Prince Ubbe raises the branch again for the second strike, she realizes that Katla and Gunnar had been kind.

She tries her best to remain calm and composed, but by the twentieth strike her legs are shaking and she is happy that she had managed to keep her dress close. Her cries fill the air after Prince Ubbe has stopped his assault.

“Look at me,” the queen commands. Terrified, Inga looks up into the eyes of the queen. “Why did you do it?”

“Because I was jealous of your riches, my queen.” She squeezes the words out between two sobs, but she at least manages to hold eye contact. The queen furrows her brows. Inga hopes she will believe her. Why wouldn’t she? It fits the story doesn’t it?

“Ten more strikes,” she orders.

The prince takes a moment to react, but when he does the strikes feel even more unrelenting. The skin on her back is nothing more than an open wound by now. She tries again to stand still, but after the fifth strike her legs give out and she falls to the floor. Her knees crack as they hit the ground and she cries out in pain.

The assault stops. Inga curls herself into a ball, pressing her head to the ground.

“Five more.” The voice of the queen sounds like it is coming from far away, but Prince Ubbe doesn’t react.

“Ubbe.” The voice is growing impatient. Inga closes her eyes and tries to prepare herself for the next strike.

“Inga, what was the colour of the earrings?” Djurdja’s voice asks out of nowhere. Prince Ubbe still waits.

Inga looks up at Djurdja. Djurdja’s lips are trembling and her nostrils are slightly widened. She seems to be searching for something in Inga’s face, even as Inga searches hers.

“Gold,” Inga stutters. It’s the safest bet, but Djurdja seems to be waiting. “Gold and blue.”

As soon as Djurdja breathes out in relief, Inga knows that she has lost. Djurdja turns to the queen expectantly.

“Ten more, Ubbe.”

The answer comes as a surprise. Maybe she has chosen correctly after all. She can hear Ubbe raising his arm.

“But my queen, she has obviously not done it.”

The strike doesn’t come. Djurdja’s voice is soft and higher than usual. But even with her soft voice, Djurdja looks bold to Inga. Her eyes are on the queen and her chin is slightly raised.

“She needs to learn not to lie. Ubbe.”

But Ubbe doesn’t strike her again.

“Please, my queen.” Djurdja sounds like a child begging its mother for kindness. Inga should be mad, but the pain is too overwhelming in the moment to deal with what is happening. She lies on the floor waiting for them to make a decision.

Silence again, until: “Get her out of my sight.”

Inga lets out a sigh of relief.

* * *

“What were you thinking?” Djurdja puts her hand onto Inga’s back. She caught Inga right before she entered the kitchen, and she is still shaking slightly, the dress haphazardly pulled back over her head.

Now they sit outside with Inga’s back uncover again. Djurdja’s hands on her back are slick with a salve, she has probably stolen from the queen’s chambers.

“I just wanted it to stop.”

“This could’ve killed you.” Inga has never heard Djurdja this furious. Inga closes her eyes and concentrates on the soothing cold of her hands against her burning skin.

“At least we would’ve had something to eat than,” she finally says. Djurdja doesn’t reply, because. Margrethe has come out from the house. Her eyes widen when she sees Inga.

“I heard what happened,” she whispers. She takes out a piece of bread hidden in her overdress and holds it in front of Inga. She turns away.

“Tófa and Gudrun need it more than me.”

“You will eat the piece of bread now,” Djurdja’s voice is calm, but almost threatening. Inga sighs and takes the piece of bread out of Margrethe’s hand. It’s soft and salty. She angrily chews and swallows..

“What were you thinking?” Margrethe finally asks.

“Don’t bother, I already asked.”

Inga rolls her eyes.

“It would’ve worked.”

“At what cost?”

Inga turns to Djurdja.

“The queen wants someone to punish. She wants to bind someone to the pig pen for us all to gawk at. I thought I could do that.”

Margrethe scoffs.

“The queen wants her earrings back.”

Djurdja’s face remains unchanged. She is searching for something, Inga can feel it, but she can search all she likes; Inga has nothing to hide. Now in the daylight, Inga is able to examine her face better. Without her mask, Djurdja looks less imposing, more like a girl of sixteen or seventeen. She focuses on her eyes, hidden behind dark long lashes. Even in anger, they seem soft. Not the eyes of a witch, but the eyes of a mother, of a doe. How could she have ever been afraid of Djurdja?

“We should curse Ivar soon,” she states after she finishes her bread. Margrethe grows tense and Djudja’s fingers pause on her shoulders.

“It’s not like we have anything to lose.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i tried to find mentions of thralls in the saga, but yeah... anyway i hope this was enjoyable!
> 
> my tumblr is [volvaaslaug](https://volvaaslaug.tumblr.com/)
> 
> my amazing beta is [ivarthebadbitch](https://ivarthebadbitch.tumblr.com/)


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The only thing needed for the curse is sacrifical wine. A rather simple task, but things get messier and Inga doesn't know why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: implied threat of sexual violence

They decide to cast the curse, as soon as King Harald has arrived. The festivities seem a good time to call the gods, Djurdja finds and Inga can only agree.

Word of what she has done spreads across the estate and when she wakes the next morning with a burning back and an empty stomach, she is greeted with sullen stares and a few appreciative nods. Erik is trying to pin the fact that the queen forbade food this morning on her, but no one really believes that.

Katla shakes her head and chides her for her stupidity, but in the end she inspects her back and puts her onto kitchen duty, much to Gudrun’s and Tófa’s scandalized gasps.

Inga doesn’t really care. She has woken up this morning feeling strangely content. It feels a little bit like she is floating, as if Prince Ubbe had beaten out every last bit of fear and sadness. Her eyes move to Margrethe and Djurdja by the table. They are smart enough not to look back at her, and she cannot help but smile at the secret they share.

After some discussion between Gunnar and Katla, Gudrun gets kitchen duty as well and despite her lamentations, Tófa still has to work out on the fields and is not allowed to join them. They continue to be angry about it until Gunnar threatens to beat them, then they grow silent.

Inwardly Inga braces herself for a lot of bad mouthing and petty commentary, but luckily there is actually a lot to do in the kitchen. Harald Finehair and his army will be here every day now and Katla is busy making sweet and savoury pies, which means that Inga does nothing but kneading dough for the better part of the morning, while Gudrun prepares cheese.

It feels like a taunt to have to prepare all this food on an empty stomach. Katla and Gudrun look wistfully at the pies they are pulled out of the oven pulls. Inga is certain that she eats small bits and pieces throughout the day. It’s the luxury of being a thrall who mostly works inside, but Inga is not tempted. Her stomach is fed by their plans, bursting with full of their prospects.

She imagines Djurdja in the queen’s chambers heading towards the chest with the sacrificial wine. Glee fills her entire body and makes it tingle as she thinks about it. It’s wrong for a thrall to go against their master, but it’s also wrong for a master to let her thralls starve, to let her son abuse them. The gods have watched them and have remained silent. The world has been turned upside down by the order of queen and as long as that’s the case, the old rules simply do not apply.

“What are you smiling about?”

Gudrun’s voice forces Inga out of her daydream. She turns around. Gudrun sits on the ground, she has stopped working and just looks up to Inga. Katla is nowhere to be seen.

Quickly Inga turns away again to avoid her gaze. She wishes Gudrun would simply ignore her and not gawk at it in an attempt to find new flaws in Inga’s physical form. She continues to knead her batch of dough.

“Did you do it?” Gudrun’s voice is nothing but a faint whisper. There is awe in her voice. Something close to respect. Inga stops again. She considers her answer.

“Do you think the queen would still let us starve if I had really done it?” She has not wanted to sound this scolding, but she does anyway. Her eyes focus on the dough in her hands. She doesn’t dare to look back again. Gudrun’s stare feels hot enough on her back as it is.

“I just wondered,” Gudrun’s voice drifts off.

It’s silent for a moment. Inga dares to knead the dough again. Her hands claw themselves into the dough as she pushes it around again and again. She doesn’t know where her sudden burst of anger comes from, but today she has no capacity to deal with Gudrun and her little games.

“Do you think Djurdja has done it?” Gudrun asks and finally manages to tip Inga off.

She turns abruptly. “Don’t be stupid. Of course she has not.”

Gudrun isn’t impressed. She leans her head on her knees. “What makes you so sure?”

The truth is she doesn’t really know. It just seemed so obvious to her, when Gunnar accused Djurdja. She has no motive. It had just felt like Gunnar trying to find a way to punish the only slave, he couldn’t dare to touch, an easy scapegoat.

When Inga doesn’t give an answer, Gudrun continues: “Because I thought you jumped between her and uncle because you didn’t want Djurdja to get punished for your wrongdoings. But now it seems like you really believe her.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

Gudrun starts to laugh. “It’s very stupid.”

“You are very stupid.” The insult falls flat. Gudrun continues to laugh. Inga feels her body growing warm in anger. She wants to press the dough into Gudrun’s face until she stops laughing. Luckily Gudrun does so on her own.

“But of course, maybe you know more. Maybe you know who has done it,” her voice grows curious. She looks at Inga expectantly.

“I don’t,” she states flatly.

“Are you sure? After all we both know that there is another thrall in the house with close access to the queen’s chambers.”

It takes a moment for Inga to realize who Gudrun is aiming at. She rises the moment she realizes who Gudrun means. Her body moves on its own until she stands in front of Gudrun.

“Don’t,” is all she manages to say. Her hands are curled into fists. “Don’t drag Margrethe into it.”

Gudrun only smiles. “I am not. That’s what uncle has been saying. They both did it. And you for some stupid reason are loyal to them.”

Her voice is sweet, it makes Inga want to vomit. She stares down onto her and tries to understand if Gudrun chose to be like this or if the gods had turned her into such an unpleasant person. But before she can say anything further, Katla comes back. She stops when she sees Inga towering over Gudrun. Inga takes a step back feeling very ashamed. Gudrun’s smile widens.

“And what have we here?”

Quickly Inga moves back to the table. She was still angry, but swallowed it down quickly as Katla stepped closer. Her hand comes up to Inga’s neck.

“I have given you the privilege to work in the kitchen today, do you understand this?”

Inga tries her best not to freeze. The hand lies against her shoulder blade. The wounds underneath sting. She nods. Katla’s hand yet doesn’t leave. She watches Inga as she kneads the dough for a little while longer. Inga wants to tell her that it’s not her fault. It had been Gudrun who provoked her, but she knows Katla will not listen.

Finally she lets go of her. “Good.”

As she leaves to work in her part of the kitchen, Inga turns around. Gudrun is still looking at her with a serene smile on her face.

* * *

Despite it all Katla lets her go earlier today. She inspects Inga’s wounds again. Her hands are soft and forgiving then. Inga still feels tense from earlier, but she still smiles back at her. Gudrun complains, but she has not finished the cheese yet, so it is of no use. Inga cannot help grinning as she leaves the kitchen.

She makes her way to the barn, only to find it empty, which makes sense. Margrethe and Djurdja are probably still working. Sometimes Djurdja stays in the estate way after nightfall; some say that she even sleeps in the queen’s chambers from time to time. So maybe she will not see her today. It puts a little damper on her glee, and she chides herself immediately.

A true hero needs to remain focused and patient. What is another day of hunger in the grand scheme of things?

But then the door opens and Margrethe enters. Inga’s smile freezes on her face when she sees Margrethe’s sad expression. She walks towards Inga with a worn out flask in hand and sits down on the bed with big tears falling down her face.

All happiness leaves Inga. She sits down on the bed and touches Margrethe’s shoulders, but Margrethe doesn’t look up.

“What happened?” Inga whispers. Margrethe wipes away her tears before answering.

“They punished Djurdja.” Her voice so quiet and shaky that Inga has to lean forward to hear what she is saying, but the words feel like a blow to the stomach and suddenly she feels weak and hungry again. She furrows her brows. Has Gudrun been right?

In the next moment Margrethe leans against her with her full weight. Inga’s upper body almost falls onto the bed, but she manages to keep her balance, as she presses against her, resting her head on top of hers. How often has she fantasized about a moment like this? And how ill prepared she is and horrible it feels now.

She feels her trembling underneath her rough fingertips. Oh how she wishes they were softer; how she wishes she was bigger and stronger and not so small and boney to hug.

“What happened?” She finally manages to ask, hoping it’s unrelated to the earrings.

Margrethe shrugs her shoulders.

“I don’t know. Everything was fine and then…, and then.” Margrethe starts to cry louder. Inga pets her back. “I got the flask though,” Margrethe finally whispers pointing at it in front of them. Inga nods.

“Where is she now?” Inga whispers.

“Bound to the pig pen.”

Deep down Inga knows the answer already. It still takes her by surprise. In all her years at the estate, she cannot remember Djurdja being put in the pig pen.

What else could she have done to garner such a punishment?

Inga wants to inquire further, but the door opens again. Quickly Inga disentangles herself from Margrethe. If the others see them like this, they will grow suspicious. The flask filled with sacrificial wine is still on the ground next to them. Margrethe sinks onto the bed. Inga steps in front of her and her whole body freezes. It’s not Katla, it’s not even Gunnar. It’s Prince Ubbe standing in the doorway staring right at her.

Inga is so confused she forgets the rules and openly stares at him instead of looking down to the ground. Standing between him and the shaking Margrethe, she notices how tall he is, with his broad shoulders and muscles that show even through his clothes. It would be very stupid to stand in his way and yet Inga prepares herself. Her heart beats heavy in her chest and her back flares up in that moment to remind her that he could do it again.

But he doesn’t look angry or even aggressive. Finally she remembers herself and looks down at her feet and waits. He probably has come with a reason.

Prince Ubbe waits for another moment before stepping towards her. Inga keeps her eyes on the ground, watching his feet come closer and closer. They are clad in fine leather and big.

He stops in front of her. There is something in his hands; A box of some sort.

“It’s for your friend.” Inga cannot remember ever being addressed kindly by one of the princes. Somehow she is surprised by softness of his voice; it is not as deep and harsh as she had thought he would sound.

She dares to look up into his face and is stunned by his bright blue eyes. He looks just like a prince from the stories. At least how she thinks a prince is supposed to look, healthy and strong and handsome.

It’s impolite to keep a prince waiting, so she reaches out her hands to receive the box. It feels heavier than expected. The wood is fine and engraved. She feels a little bit like her hands are soiling it. She looks up from the box and waits for further instructions.

“It’s a salve.”

Her eyes widen and she clutches the box closer. How very kind. She is certain that the queen doesn’t know about this.

“Thank you,” she finally states, and her voice is so high and thin that she barely gets out the ‘you’. Prince Ubbe smiles. It’s a little uncertain, a little normal. It makes her feel strangely safe. His eyes move past her and Inga remembers that Margrethe is still sitting behind her with the flask at her feet. She turns slightly and reaches out her hand to get her up. There is still time left until evening to hide the flask somewhere in the garden, but Margrethe ignores her hand.

Her eyes are on Prince Ubbe. She has stopped crying now, but her expression is far from neutral. There is something inquiring and questioning in her eyes. It’s not the way a thrall is supposed to look at her master. Inga turns to Prince Ubbe, who has a strangely pained expression on his face now. It seems as if they are holding a silent private conversation and somehow Inga has found herself in the crossfire.

The realization sinks in slowly. Inga turns away and grabs the flask as her world shifts just a little bit. She steps out of their silent exchange.

“I will go now,” she speaks into the room. It feels empty and hollow, as if Prince Ubbe and Margrethe are not even here.

She doesn’t even wait for an answer. Margrethe gives it to her anyway.

“Yes, I will follow.”

Inga doesn’t look back as she leaves the barn. She knows that Margrethe will do no such thing.

* * *

The pig pen is rather small. Binding someone to it means binding them to the door. After Inga has hidden the flask by the bushes, she takes the salve and watches Djurdja from afar, waiting until the time is right to step forward. Over the course of the evening a few thralls working in the fields pass by her. They laugh at her exposed back and leer at her. Inga curls her hands into fists, but continues to wait. Gudrun must also feel very satisfied right now, but she can keep her smug smile. No one has called out for dinner yet as well, which means that the culprit has not been found yet.

Night falls and the place grows silent and dark. Inga strolls between the pig pen and the berry bushes, waiting for a good opportunity. She steps forward and almost stumbles into the courtyard at the same time as Prince Hvitserk.

Her whole body freezes as she watches him enter. Out of all the Princes, she knows him the least. Prince Ubbe has a kind demeanor. Prince Sigurd plays the oud beautifully in the fields. Prince Ivar is angry and violent, but when it comes to Prince Hvitserk, Inga knows nothing, except for the fact that he sometimes sleeps in the animal barn by the thralls when he is too drunk to find his bed.

He stops in front of the pig pen and gazes over Djurdja and her bloody back. Inga can feel her whole body starting to tremble. It gets harder to just stand there and wait. She is certain that if he lays a hand on her, she will step forward and fight him. Even if it’s futile, even if it’s the last thing she will do. But he just watches Djurdja for a moment before turning away and continuing his walk. Inga exhales sharply.

She waits another moment and then finally dares to step into the yard. Djurdja doesn’t react. Maybe the exhaustion has taken over. Inga remembers her own time in the pig pen, and how the pain had subsided and sleep had slowly taken her.

She does not want to wake her, but at the same time Prince Ubbe has been so kind to give her the salve and Djurdja’s back looks horrifying. Whoever had carried out the punishment had not been soft or lenient and Inga wonders what Djurdja must’ve done to receive it. The other thralls believe that Djurdja confessed to stealing the earrings, but Inga knows this cannot be true. The queen is still letting them starve. So what had it been that finally made the queen lash out against her most trusted servant, and why does Inga have the feeling that it’s directly connected to her?

Djurdja opens her eyes the moment Inga reaches out to touch her face. For a moment, she looks more like a feral animal ready to bite anyone who comes close, but then it subsides.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Her voice is hoarse and broken and Inga blames herself for not bringing water. She leans forward and pushes a loose strand of hair out of Djurdja’s face and behind her ear. Up close, Inga notices that Djurdja’s breathing is labored and her body is shaking. There are bruises on her neck and swelling. Inga gasps. This clearly isn’t the mark of the queen. She reaches out her hand to touch her neck, but stops when Djurdja flinches.

“Who did this to you?”

But Djurdja doesn’t answer. She just turns and looks at the ground. Her eyes are blank again. Somehow Inga has the feeling she has lost her, but she cannot really say why.

She swallows down the tight feeling in her stomach and takes out the salve.

“I brought something.”

Djurdja looks up. Her eyebrows furrow as she looks at the box. Inga quickly steps behind her and pushes her braid aside to take a good look. Inga is surprised to find her back appears strangely fragile and small up close. Hidden behind two layers of clothes, she looks sturdier.

Prince Ubbe has not explained to her how to use the salve. She looks from her dirty hands to Djurdja’s back and then the box. Carefully she tries to clean her hands on her dress, before dipping them into the salve. She tries to remember how Djurdja applied it to her.

As she begins, she notes every gash in Djurdja’s back. There are at least five deep cuts that will turn into scars and multiple small ones in between. They have already formed a scab, but as Inga applies the salve some of it breaks away and the wound starts to bleed again. Djurdja doesn’t react to it.

“The salve is from the queen’s chambers,” Djurdja notes after a while. It’s a silent question, and Inga almost thinks about not answering it in the same way that Margrethe and Djurdja never answer any of her questions, but in the end her curiosity gets the better of her.

“Prince Ubbe gave it to me.” She tries to sound casual about it, but her eyes are on Djurdja’s back as she tries to gauge any sort of reaction. “He came to the barn this afternoon.”

Djurdja is silent again. Inga wants to lean forward and watch her face, but she knows that she probably won’t see anything but her usual blank expression.

“I think he was there for Margrethe.”

No reaction to this as well, but Inga doesn’t need confirmation on this one. She might be naive, but not blind. She spreads the salve a little more until she is satisfied then she pulls up her underdress and dress. She cannot pull it over Djurdja’s arms because her hands are tied, but at least it covers her breasts and back.

She gets up and takes the box. Djurdja is staring at a point on the ground. Inga goes onto her knees and Djurdja finally looks up. This time something slips through her eyes. There is some sadness hidden there that is so vast and deep it makes Inga sad as well.

“We’ll curse him soon. We have almost everything now, except for the sacrifice.”

Somehow these words make Djurdja only sadder she looks away. Inga should leave now, but something inside of her urges her to stay, so she sits down on the ground in front of Djurdja and hugs her carefully. She expects Djurdja to fight her or grow tense, but she remains unchanged. Her skin is cold and Inga wishes that she had some sort of blanket to wrap around her. She presses herself closer, trying to warm her with her small body. It’s not enough.

With a sigh she lets go. She looks up at Djurdja’s face, and even though all those harsh lines are back now and her face is nothing but a mask, Inga can see the softness in her features. It’s like a ghost haunting her face.

She looks at the ground away and from Djurdja’s empty eyes.

“I think Prince Ubbe likes Margrethe,” she whispers. Djurdja doesn’t even furrow her brows. Inga has the feeling that she already knows.

“What makes you think that?”

“It’s in the way he looks at her.” _ Like a prince looking at a princess _. She doesn’t dare to utter the last part of her thoughts, knowing that Djurdja will probably find it foolish.

“Hm.” There is actually something in Djurdja’s eyes. It looks like disgust. “And what if that’s true?”

Inga doesn’t know. She has tried not to think about that. It’s dangerous for Margrethe and hopefully the queen doesn’t know and will never find out. At best, Prince Ubbe could protect Margrethe from Prince Ivar. But there is something appealing about them as well it feels like the start of a love story, of a beautiful song soon be sung.

“They look good together,” she finally says and immediately feels like a small child. She knows it’s not that simple, but somehow she hopes it is. No, it should be - for Margrethe’s sake.

As if Djurdja can read her mind she says: “You know the songs, you know how it ends when a thrall falls in love with her master.”

Inga can feel her face turn red and she is glad that it’s dark. She turns away.

“There are good stories just as well as sad ones,” she answers dismissively. “Also, Margrethe doesn’t look like a thrall.”

Djurdja furrows her brows.

“Now what’s that supposed to mean?”

Inga doesn’t know how to answer that question. It’s obvious isn’t? But Djurdja actually looks puzzled and Inga wants to keep this going.

“I don’t know. She just doesn’t. She looks like a princess, a queen.” She hopes masking it like an afterthought will make it less embarrassing. But Djurdja’s brows furrow further and she almost looks displeased.

“And what does a thrall look like?”

Why is Djurdja asking questions she knows the answers to already? It must be obvious to her, or does she think that Inga has meant to insult her?

“No, you misunderstand. I didn’t mean-,” Inga has to stop herself before sighing, “like me, like Tófa. Nothing like you, of course.”

Somehow the last sentence does not appease Djurdja at all. Her brows have just furrowed further. Inga regrets every word that has led her to this very moment. She bites her lips and looks away to escape Djurdja’s questioning eyes.

“I think you should leave,” Djurdja finally states after some time. Inga wants to disagree, but has nothing to counter. She feels as if she has done something terribly wrong.

Slowly she gets up and takes the box. “Good night, Djurdja.”

“Good night, Inga.”

Instead of going to the barn, Inga moves to the berry bushes. She sits down next to them and examines the box in hands. Her body feels heavy again and yet so hollow. As if she is a cored trunk of a tree. She looks up to the sky and watches the stars.

_ Oh dear Gods _ , she thinks to herself, _ please give us the strength to follow this through. I don’t ask for much just give me the strength to protect my friends _

Before she can stop herself, she reaches out her hand and shoves the berries into her mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr is [volvaaslaug](https://volvaaslaug.tumblr.com/)
> 
> my amazing beta is [ivarthebadbitch](https://ivarthebadbitch.tumblr.com/)


	4. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harald Finehair arrives and a curse is cast.

She doesn’t sleep much that night. Instead she stuffs herself with berries, but her appetite never ceases. When she finally lies down to sleep, the memory of Prince Ubbe’s eyes on Margrethe keeps her awake. Now thinking back on it, maybe she shouldn’t have left Margrethe alone with him.

The next morning brings no food, to the disappointment of everyone. Inga is not surprised to learn that after all Djurdja had not stolen the earrings, So she cannot help but grin as Gudrun continues to complain and Gunnar tries to hide his disappointment.

Noon passes quickly. They help Katla in the kitchen. They work in the garden. It’s around afternoon when they notice the commotion. People are yelling at each other and running through the streets. _ King Harald Finehair has arrived. _

Even Inga cannot hide her excitement at the news, and now it’s not even about the warriors and shieldmaiden flooding the streets or the feast in the evening, but the curse. They will do it today, despite everything.

Thralls like them are not allowed to watch the arrival, but Gudrun, Tófa and her pass their time by braiding flower crowns to wear during the feast. Inga’s excitement takes a hold of her there and she picks the most beautiful flowers in yellow, blue and red. When she is finished the crown is a little too big for her head and almost feels heavy. Gudrun and Tófa tease her, but she doesn’t try to let them get her down. It’s foolish for her to wear such a crown, but she could give it to Margrethe or Djurdja. Before she can decide to create another crown, they are called to the barn.

Inside, a big pot filled with steaming soup awaits them. Everyone is euphoric. “Given King Harald’s arrival, the queen has decided to be generous and end our suffering,” Katla explains while handing Inga a bowl.

“So no culprit has been found yet?” Gunnar asks.

“No, the queen is just being kind,” Katla replies while handing Tófa her bowl. It’s obvious that Gunnar isn’t happy with the answer. He is probably thinking about Djurdja and her punishment. It’s then that Inga notices that Djurdja is not with them; perhaps she is busy helping the queen to get ready.

She notices Margrethe, however, sitting alone with a sullen expression. Quickly she plops down beside her. Margrethe doesn’t look up. This up close, Inga notices her red eyes. Her heart sinks.

“Is everything alright?” She whispers. Margrethe nods.

“Everything is fine,” she states. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that she is lying. Inga hesitates, uncertain if she should probe further. Should she ask about Prince Ubbe now? But they are not alone and she is certain Margrethe would dismiss her anyway. So Inga swallows her questions and instead leans against Margrethe in an attempt to comfort her. Margrethe stops eating, and then to Inga’s surprise, rests her head on Inga’s. In this position, Inga can hear Margrethe’s slow heartbeat. She closes her eyes. They stay like that for a moment before starting to eat again. Inga gulps down her soup; she has forgotten how good it feels to have a full belly.

“I made something for you,” Inga proclaims after a while. She presents Margrethe with the flower crown.

“It’s very pretty,” she states and tries to hand it back, but Inga shakes her head.

“No, no, I made it for you. It’s yours to wear.”

Margrethe stops and stares at it for some time. “That’s very kind of you, but I think it would be unfair of me to wear it.”

Inga drinks the last bit of her soup. “How so?”

“Because you made it. You should get to wear what you created.” She holds out the flower crown. Inga wants to explain that the crown wouldn’t look as lovely on her head as it would on Margrethe’s, but then she thinks about her conversation with Djurdja and drops it. Disappointed, she takes it back. Then she gets an idea.

Quickly she removes the blue flowers and hands them over to her. Margrethe eyes them with suspicion.

“You take the blue ones. And Djurdja and I can share the rest of them.”

Margrethe’s puzzlement turns into amusement. She chuckles and Inga feels proud. She has successfully distracted Margrethe from whatever it is that makes her unhappy.

Carefully Margrethe takes the flowers and arranges them in her hair. Inga helps her. By the end she looks as beautiful as ever. They both laugh. Inga leans closer. “It will be over soon.”

Margrethe’s smile gets smaller again and Inga fears she said the wrong thing, but then Margrethe’s expression turns more serious. She nods. “You’re right.”

When they all are finished eating, Margrethe squeezes Inga’s hand before leaving. Inga grins and turns to Tófa and Gudrun, only to notice that Gudrun’s eyes are on her. She has been watching them and she looks not at all pleased.

* * *

As the sun disappears behind the horizon, the hall grows full and loud. Everyone of importance has arrived to congratulate Prince Björn on his journey. Inga even recognizes the son of her former master and his wife prancing around, and for a moment she wonders how her siblings are doing before Katla calls for her. Food needs to be brought to the tables, and so for the first half of the feast Inga just moves back and forth.

On her rounds she gets the opportunity to listen to the bards singing. Warriors boast of their battle stories in battle. ‘And then I cut him open from his chest to his pelvis, oh what a sight it was.’ She stops for a moment when she notices Earl Lagertha enter with her companion, a young woman with curious eyes. She catches Inga staring and laughs as Inga turns away with red cheeks, not quite sure why she feels this embarrassed. She moves quickly to the main table where the queen and her sons are seated, with. Margrethe right next to Prince Ivar. With disappointment, Inga notices that the flowers in her hair are gone. She wonders for a moment why, but then realizes that Prince Ivar probably hadn’t liked them.

Angry, she turns away and moves through the crowd and tries not to think about it too hard. It doesn’t matter. It had cheered Margrethe up and that had been its whole purpose. Prince Ivar couldn’t take that away from her. She turns again to watch them, but her view is obscured by a woman with long flowing hair by the main table.

Inga stops when she realizes who the woman in the beautiful red dress is. Her mouth opens in surprise as she takes in Djurdja fully. She looks so different. Inga could not remember a time when she has seen Djurdja with open hair and she is surprised by just how long it is. It frames her face nicely. She could almost be mistaken for an acclaimed guest of the queen instead of a thrall. The only thing she is missing is jewellery. The swellings around her neck serve as uncomfortable decorations instead.

She notices Inga as well and moves towards her.

“It looks like you are enjoying yourself,” she states with a hint of amusement in her voice. Close up, Inga can see bags underneath her eyes and Inga thinks back on yesterday evening.

“Are you alright?”

Djurdja nods carefully. Inga assumes it hurts to move her head quickly. Her eyes move back to the table where Prince Ivar is still seated. He has reached out his hand to stroke Margrethe’s cheek. Margrethe lets it happen, but Inga can clearly see her discomfort. His brothers laugh next to them, even Prince Ubbe. Djurdja follows her eyes. They both watch it for a moment. Only when Prince Ivar leans away and takes a look around does Inga turn her eyes to the ground. Her hands have formed into fists.

“When will we do it?” She whispers. Djurdja turns back to her.

“Soon. After the queen has performed the sacrifice.” She reaches out her finger and boops Inga’s nose playfully. It reminds Inga of one of her older brothers, the one that got married. Usually, Inga would find it demeaning. She is not a child anymore, but there is a softness in Djurdja’s movement that feels affectionate.

“Oh!” Inga proclaims. She takes off her flower crown and is excited to realize that the red flowers match Djurdja’s dress well. Quickly she picks them off and hands them to Djurdja. “For you. I wanted to give them to you earlier. Margrethe got the blue ones.”

“That’s where she got them from, I was wondering.” She doesn’t take the flowers, but instead she goes onto her knees and lowers her head. Inga cannot believe her luck. Carefully she secures the flowers behind her ears and marvels at the sight as Djurdja gets up again. She looks like a princess from a foreign land, who by coincidence has been stranded here. And in a way, Inga thought, isn’t she just that? She cannot help but smile and for a moment she is certain that Djurdja will smile as well, but then the queen calls for her and her face turns blank again. They turn towards the sound of the queen’s voice. She sits on the throne with a tense expression. Inga moves a little behind Djurdja to shield herself.

“We’ll talk later,” Djurdja whispers before leaving. Inga watches as she moves towards the queen and leans close as the queen whispers something into her ear. Djurdja nods and then leaves the hall. Inga relaxes. The flowers had not been a problem.

Her eyes move back to Margrethe. Prince Ivar’s attention has shifted and he is now deep in conversation with Prince Ubbe and Hvitserk. Then Inga notices Prince Sigurd’s eyes on Margrethe and his hand that reaches out under the table. Margrethe tenses and doesn’t look at him, but also doesn’t pull away. Inga has to fight the sudden urge to step between them.

“There you are!” Gudrun’s mocking voice makes Inga turn. She and Tófa are both watching her with amusement. Why they are so amused Inga doesn’t know, but they always find their reasons.

“What do you want?” She sighs.

Gudrun ignores her question. “It’s cute how you want to be her friend,” she says, and steps closer with crossed arms. “As if Djurdja sees you as anything other than a plaything.”

Inga watches her face, uncertain how to answer. Gudrun has dressed herself up too. There are small white flowers in her hair from this afternoon. The dress she is wearing seems clean and new; maybe Gunnar allowed her to wear it. Tófa’s dress is still worn out and grey, though her hair is decorated with small blue flowers. They look very pretty for the fact that they are thralls, Inga catches herself thinking.

“Why can’t you leave me alone?” The words break out so suddenly, Inga can hear her own desperation. Gudrun is prettier and taller than Inga and yet she cannot stop, as if she needs to prove it. Her smile widens. Inga has given her exactly what she wants.

“Uncle says bad things happen when we get too cocky. That’s what happened with Djurdja and Margrethe. They believe they are above us and that’s why we had to starve, while they ate stolen food.” 

Inga tries her best not to scoff. “If that’s true, then why were we allowed to eat today.”

“Because they got away with it, dummy.” Gudrun rolls her eyes. It’s all so obvious to her, it seems. She has taken the words of her uncle as the truth and now does her best to repeat them. She always wondered what had made Gudrun so cruel; If the early death of her mother is to blame. Inga could have understood that. She knows what it’s like to be alone. She has been alone since she was six, but it has not made her drink up every word Katla and Gunnar say. She looks up into Gudrun’s eyes, so pretty and blue. She has everything Inga wants and yet she is not happy. Inga pities her. She really does.

“Don’t you have a boy to dance with?” She finally says. Her eyes move to Tófa. “Or is no one interested?”

Gudrun’s eyes widen in shock and outrage, but Inga doesn’t let her have her the last word. She simply turns around and leaves. As she passes the table where Prince Ivar and his brothers are sitting, she notices that Margrethe has disappeared, and so has Prince Sigurd.

* * *

Inga busies herself with cleaning and carrying food around. As a reward, Katla gives her a pie to eat. When the call comes for the sacrifice, Inga cannot help but smile in excitement, for a different sacrifice that will be starting soon. Katla misinterprets the smile and allows her to leave the kitchen area to watch the sacrifice herself. So Inga slips outside and watches as everyone gathers around. King Harald and his brother have started to sing and everyone is following their example.

The fires burn brighter than the night sky and someone is drumming a beat that makes Inga’s skin tingle. Everyone waits for the queen and Inga starts to look around to catch a glimpse of her, but instead she finds Djurdja, standing in the shadows by the house.

Her eyes meet Inga’s and she is smiling, a wide open mouthed smile baring her white teeth in a way that creates goosebumps on Inga’s skin.

Before she can process what’s happening, Djurdja steps towards her. There is something unhinged about her. The red flowers Inga put in her hair have started to wilt a little, but they still make her look a little taller and now they match her reddened cheeks and she still smiles; cannot stop smiling, it seems. Inga has never seen her smile and now she does it so openly. Half of her face seems to be made out of teeth. The light color of her eyes is only a mere ring around her pupils. Inga looks at her and thinks of a young völva; of the queen when she first laid eyes on King Ragnar.

There is no hesitation in Djurdja’s eyes, no fear or other earthly desires. A shiver runs down Inga’s spine. 

Djurjda reaches out her hand and takes Inga’s arm and Inga forgets how to breathe properly. Djurdja’s hand is dry and hot against her skin.

“We should do it now,” Djurdja says in a hoarse whisper.

Inga needs a moment before she answers, catching her breath and calming her nerves.

“Now?” Her voice so high it breaks a little.

It should be impossible, but Djurdja’s smile grows wider. She has such a big mouth, Inga realizes now. It wasn’t that obvious when it was nothing more than a fine line on her face. 

“But you said we should wait-”

“No one will miss us now”

That might be true. Inga takes a look around. Even now, no one pays attention; their eyes are glued on the king. They are singing and swaying around and clearly drunk. Even if Katla searches for her, she will probably believe that Inga is just somewhere lost in the crowd.

She looks back to Djurdja and tries to withstand her gaze. Her face isn’t too soft anymore, even with the bright clear smile. Her teeth can bite, her touch is lethal. There is no doubt in Inga’s mind that she will be able to curse Ivar for all eternity. They are powerful despite everything.

Slowly she reaches out and takes Djurdja’s hand. Her hand is clammy against Djurdja’s. There is no need to be scared, she tells herself, the völva is on her side. She dares to smile back.

Djurdja squeezes her hand.

“Let’s find Margrethe.”

* * *

It feels like a story someone told Inga once. Djurdja leads Inga through the crowd with her hand locked around hers. Inga looks around to see if anyone notices them, but they don’t. After all, why would they notice two thralls?

_ And so the hero went forward with the völva as the crowd had gathered. They walked in silence, for they knew about the terrible secret they were about to share. _

It feels like Inga is gliding over the ground. Everything happens fast, but everything also leaves a lasting impression. Inga notices the wind in the trees, the birds chirping in the distance. Far away, people are still singing and cheering. The queen has probably started her sacrifice. Every observation turns into a phrase in her head.

_ And the wind was brushing against the trees and the birds were watching as they went on their way, witnesses of the gods. _

_ The hero and the völva knew this and let them watch. _

_ T _ _ hey walked to the barn and found the fair maiden lying on her bed. She looked in surprise as they entered. Her body had been marked by the wolves again. She looked at them with doubt and suspicion as they told her of her plan. _

“But the sacrifice is happening right now.” Margrethe sounds a little defensive. She has pulled up her dress to hide the marks on her neck. Inga tries not to think about Prince Sigurd and Prince Ubbe and the confusion she is feeling over this.

Both Margrethe and Djurdja carry a mark from a prince, Inga realizes. The marks even look alike, although they are of a very different nature.

Djurdja movesso close to Margrethe that their bodies are almost touching.

“And the gods will certainly watch.” Djurdja’s voice is calm and collected. There is not a lot of space left between them. Margrethe leans down and their noses are almost brushing against each other. “We should use that to our advantage.”

_ The maid pondered the völva’s words, but after some consideration agreed. _

“We still need a sacrifice.”

_ The völva smiled. Her all seeing, all knowing eyes rested on the hero. _

“We have our sacrifice,” Djurdja says, and gathers the leather pouch with Ivar’s hair, nail clippings and the piece of cloth with his blood. She doesn’t notice Inga’s or Margrethe’s confused looks or the glance they exchange among themselves. Her eyes are wandering across the room lost in thought.

_ So they gathered their things and made their way into the woods. The moon shone brightly over the mountains as they walked. The birds had grown quiet and the singing was faint. The hero couldn’t help but feel alone in this very moment. She raised her head to the sky and prayed to the gods to listen. _

_ The völva led them to a clearing. In the middle of the clearing had once stood a tree, old and large, but the men of the village had taken it during the winter to make fire. Now only its stump told its ancient story. The völva prepared the sacrifice. The prince’s dark hair looked pale in the moonlight. _

“You need to sing.” Djurdja doesn’t even look up. Her eyes are fixed on the small altar they have created.

“What should we sing?” Margrethe asks.

Djurdja just shrugs her shoulders. “Anything, really. Something to make the gods listen.”

Again Inga and Margrethe exchange a glance. Margrethe looks like she’s at a loss for words; maybe Djurdja’s display is scaring her just as it has Inga.

“Will we pray to your gods or ours?” Inga asks.

“Does it matter?” Djurdja has taken out a knife, one of the small ones from the kitchen, and she cleans it with her dress. “We pray to everyone who is willing to listen.”

_ Slowly the hero and the maid found a melody to sing along. They clapped their hands together and sang an old song of the gods. The forest lay quiet, their voices loud and clear. The birds sat silently in the trees, gawking and waiting. The völva raised her hands to the sky and started her lamentation in the old language of her people. She raised the knife to the sky. _

Only when the knife bores itself into Djurdja’s wrist, does Inga realize what has happened. She and Margrethe stop singing for a moment and watch as the blood slowly drips onto the stump, onto Prince Ivar’s hair. It’s a lot of blood dripping down her hand, but Djurdja doesn’t notice, too enthralled by what she’s doing.

It’s a fair sacrifice, Inga realizes, a human life demands another one. It makes sense to bind yourself to it, but she wishes it would’ve been her. It would’ve made more sense, if it would’ve been her. She starts to sing again before Margrethe does. Djurdja’s voice grows louder and louder until Inga is certain that everyone in Kattegat must hear them.

_ The forest grew quieter and quieter. Every animal turned its head as they heard the words of the völva. The wolves raise their heads, the deer left its hiding place, the bog raised its snout. Everyone was listening to the völva’s lament. The völva raised her bloodied hand to the sky so that all gods could see the sacrifice she had made. _

_ Witness this, she spoke in a language ancient and foreign to the place, but still all so clear. I give you my life in exchange for the source of our pain. Because Prince Ivar is not noble, but a monster. We carry his wounds as witness. So I ask you to free us from his will and my life will be yours. _

_ And the gods listened, for suddenly every animal started talking at the same time. The hog squealed, the wolves howled in the night, and the birds started chirping. And the hero looked towards the maid with a smile and said, it will be good. And the maid smiled back. _

* * *

They walk back in silence. Margrethe supports Djurdja slightly; by the end they had to bind her wrist with a piece of cloth because it wouldn’t stop bleeding.

In the moment Djurdja had finished, she had been certain that lightning would come from the sky and hit Prince Ivar on the spot, but of course this is not how curses works. It’s a beautiful picture nevertheless and Inga cannot stop thinking about it as they make their way to the feast.

The feast is still going on. People dance; blood is sprinkled around. The queen is on her knees praying. They stop and watch. Inga cannot believe this is real. It feels like the air is colder against her skin than before amd the smell of burned wood is heavier in her nose, and yet it also feels distant, as if she is watching a reflection in a lake.

No one notices their arrival or empty expressions, although it should be obvious what they have done with Djurdja’s hand bloody and bandaged. Why do they continue going on like this, when they all should stop to stare at them in horror and awe at what they dared to do?

Inga’s skin is itching. It feels like she has at least grown four inches in the last hour. She watches Margrethe and Djurdja. Margrethe holds Djurdja close and is talking to her, but Djurdja’s eyes are glazed over. It feels like part of her has left them and is still wandering the woods.

Katla’s voice disrupts the scene. Inga turns, but Katla’s eyes are not on her but Djurdja. “The Queen needs your help,” she states briskly before walking off. Djurdja watches her leave. Inga isn’t sure if Djurdja has even listened, but then she slowly disentangles herself from Margrethe and leaves them with a faint smile and nod.

Margrethe watches her leave with an uncertain expression. She scratches her neck and Inga again notices the marks. She wonders for a moment what Margrethe has been doing and if these were truly Prince Sigurd’s marks or maybe Prince Ubbe’s, but then she brushes the thoughts aside. They do not matter anymore. She holds out her hand.

“Do you want to dance?” She asks.

Margrethe turns in confusion. For a moment Inga thinks she will decline, but Inga still doesn’t feel any fear. If Margrethe declines, it’s fine. She can dance on her own, but then Margrethe takes her hand.

They dance slowly and to no music in particular. Margrethe makes her swirl a few times, which makes Inga laugh and then Margrethe laughs too and they have to stop dancing for a while. Margrethe leans onto Inga as she laughs and Inga is certain that no one in the entire world is as beautiful as her. She holds onto Margrethe and tries to commit the moment to memory. She never wants to forget this feeling. It’s sweet and tart like the berries in the garden and a little bit bitter as well and maybe she will get sick of it too, but right now all Inga is feeling is content. She feels invincible and strong and no one, not even Gudrun, can take this feeling away from her.

#  **End of A Terrible Folly Called Courage**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and now moving on to fun things like margrethe and baby fuckboy olympics!
> 
> my tumblr is [volvaaslaug](https://volvaaslaug.tumblr.com/)
> 
> my amazing beta is [ivarthebadbitch](https://ivarthebadbitch.tumblr.com/)


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